


spoon fed

by pensee



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Ageplay, Daddy Dom/Little Boy, Gen, Hannibal and Will are in a relationship but not when they are playing, M/M, Non-Sexual Ageplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-29 14:27:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20798105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pensee/pseuds/pensee
Summary: Hannibal has left his little one in the dining room, but the pitter patter of bare feet in the hall tell him that someone has followed him back into the kitchen to check on dinner.





	spoon fed

**Author's Note:**

> So, Hannibal spoon feeding Will and Will being like “this soup isn’t very good.” This time though it’s actually soup, and Will is a Little instead of a Very Drugged Big. 
> 
> Enjoy.

Hannibal has left his little one in the dining room, but the pitter patter of bare feet in the hall tell him that someone has followed him back into the kitchen to check on dinner.

Vegetable soup with animal crackers had been his boy’s request, thumb firmly in his mouth and hope in his shining blue eyes, and Hannibal had capitulated far too easily for his own comfort, though the pure delight in his Will’s eyes had been worth it. As had the clinging embrace in which he found himself, his cute little one rubbing his smooth cheek against his Daddy’s shoulder, mumbling, “You’re the best, Daddy!” before he fled with a red face into the den to play with the plethora of stuffed animals and action figures and coloring books that always end up spilling out onto the carpet no matter how many times he sings the Clean Up song with Will, or how many times he exasperatedly puts them away himself. 

“Come out into the kitchen, sweetheart,” he calls, Will peeking shyly around the doorframe, half of his face hidden as he clutches an Olympic-themed Barbie to his chest. 

Hannibal notices she is missing her gold medal, and informs Will of this fact, knowing that his boy will be too distracted telling him the story of how this happened to remember that he was being disobedient, failing to wait in the dining room as Hannibal had instructed. 

“Where is Barbie’s medal? You told me that was your favorite part of playing with her.”

“Oh,” Will pouts, lips forming the most adorable pout. “Um, I might have left it on the—on the floor, um, and t-the maid might have accidentally vacuumed it up yesterday. I-I think that’s what happened.”

Gina, the woman who has been cleaning his house for the past five years, is smart enough not to ask after the young child he certainly does not have, and he is grateful for her discrete nature, though he mourns the small mistake—whether Gina’s, Will’s, or his own (for all he knows, one of the dogs may have gobbled it up)—because this will definitely mean his boy will insist on purchasing another one the next time they are out. 

He does not know why Will doesn’t prefer that he purchase things online which can be sent directly to the house, and he does not miss the polite cooing of intrigued clerks every time they visit the various children’s toy stores and boutiques scattered about the city. 

The people that help them always inquire about what age their daughter or son is, and Hannibal always answers for the both of them, some vague concept of a child around three to five, depending on Will’s mood for the day, watches how Will’s posture goes stiff and his cheeks flush, mouth slightly open with a longing Hannibal can intimately identify with. 

Hannibal does not think that Will would object to them someday having a family together, but his little one is quite a jealous little boy. Hannibal’s attention, careful and all consuming as it is, is not something he would like to share at this point in time. 

Stepping closer into the kitchen, Will attempts to snatch an animal cracker off the counter, slipping it into his mouth while Hannibal’s back is turned.

“You’ll ruin your appetite,” Hannibal warns, without heat, and hears Will’s sharp inhale as he realizes that Daddy’s caught him. 

“Daaaddy!” he whines, loudly crunching the treat in his mouth as he clambers up onto the counter, watching the stove with an interested gaze. 

“I told you to wait in the dining room with Barbie, my love, why didn’t you listen?” Hannibal says, returning from the cabinet to add a bit more dried rosemary to the broth. Hm. Perhaps another pinch of salt as well, he thinks, bringing the wooden stirring spoon to his lips.

“I missed you, Daddy,” Will confesses, heels knocking against the cabinets, and Hannibal would normally scold him for making a racket, but his voice is genuinely vulnerable, and it would do no good to punish him now. 

“Then why are you all the way over there, baby?” Hannibal smiles, gesturing for Will to come closer. “I know you’ve helped me cook things before, so I need you to help me figure out something very important.”

Will’s eyes sparkle. “Important?! What Daddy, something about the food? Do you want me to taste it?” Already reaching, over eager, for the spoon, Will bites his lip as Daddy corrects, “How do we ask?”

“May I please have the spoon so I can taste it, Daddy?”

Hannibal pretends to contemplate his answer. Will did have a penchant for spilling things down whatever shirt or even protective bib he was wearing, so letting him bring the soup to his mouth on his own was out of the question for now.

Will had wanted to wear his big boy clothes to dinner, and Hannibal did not feel like replacing a four hundred dollar designer shirt because his baby hadn’t brought his bib with him from the dining room. 

“You may have a taste, but I will feed it to you. Open for Daddy, love,” he says, taking the spoon with the slightest bit of broth and a bit of carrot, and bringing it to Will’s now downturned lips.

“I can feed myself, Daddy!” he protests, though he lets out a small hum of pleasure as Hannibal taps his jaw and he opens to taste the soup that slips onto his tongue. 

“That’s true, but you often leave a mess behind, William, and Daddy wants to keep you clean tonight.” 

“Daaaaddy, messes are fun!” Will huffs, crossing his arms over his chest cutely, eyes on the floor.

Hannibal waits patiently for a few seconds, watches Will’s eyes inevitably stray back to his own as Will’s bottom lip trembles and he mutters, “Okay, messes are fun, but Daddy doesn’t want me to make a mess, so I’ll let Daddy feed me tonight.”

A bit of his older self creeps through in the hint of sarcasm that taints the words, though Hannibal can forgive his little one this.

Controlling his boy’s behavior was not about being feared, after all, despite Hannibal’s almost instinctual desire to smack Will’s bottom for his tone. 

“Excellent,” Hannibal says, seeing Will’s eyes stray to the platter of animal crackers again. “And the ‘no messes’ rule includes crumbs on the floor, young man.” 

“Okay, okay,” Will sighs, stomping his feet in place. “I’ll just go back to the table and play with Barbie and not make any messes or noise or have any fun.”

Hannibal smiles at him indulgently, and Will actually scowls. 

“You’re two for two, little one,” Hannibal praises, and Will—his adult self this time—rolls his eyes. 

“I’ll just go then,” he says, but Hannibal tugs him back by the wrist and looks at him until Will gives him an expectant expression back. 

Caving first—always Hannibal’s stubborn little boy until the moment he was sweet—Will gives his Daddy a quick peck on the cheek and lets Hannibal scent him for a moment before they draw back from each other. 

Perfectly quiet and perfectly polite, Will tucks Barbie under his opposite arm and remains the picture of a well-behaved little one until the instant he turns in the doorway, too far from Hannibal’s immediate grasp and safe from his discipline. 

“The soup needs more salt, Daddy,” he says, completely meaning for the statement to be an insult rather than a suggestion. 

Hannibal narrows his eyes as Will disappears back into the hall like the hounds of hell are on his heels, no doubt smiling like a fool for the five seconds it will take for him to realize that Daddy will eventually find him and spank him for being a brat. 

Hannibal returns to the soup, tastes it again, and wrinkles his nose, trying to remember where in this vast house he left his little one’s least favorite paddle. 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are love. Little Willy loves em.


End file.
